


Touch

by Juiliet



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Autistic Keith (Voltron), But Lance's touch is different..., Childhood, Comfort, Fluff, Keith (Voltron) has a sensory perception disorder, Keith is touch adverse, Lance (Voltron) Has ADHD, M/M, Miscommunication, Oneshot, Oneshot turned story, Sensory Description, its just a lot of oneshots, klangst, pls suggest short things for me to write, snuggle, tbh tho this keith could have anything and i kind of want some input?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-10-10 18:57:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10445013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juiliet/pseuds/Juiliet
Summary: Keith hates being touched... except when it's by Lance.





	1. Touch.

Keith had never considered himself a cuddly person. In fact he was quite the opposite. He always stiffened up when people tried to give him hugs or pat him on the back. He didn’t even like hand shakes, but he’d do it if he had to. Being touched was like being shocked. Just an accidental brush was enough to send an intense prickle down his spine, frying his nerves. Even after the contact was lifted his skin would buzz for a few moments and he’d have to try his best not to wince. Even Keith touching other people voluntary had the same staticy effect. It was just an unpleasant experience that he tried to avoid at all costs.

  
But with Lance it was different. Lance’s skin was warm and soft, silky to Keith’s touch, not scratchy or itchy. Being wrapped in his arms was less like straight jacket and more like a warm bath, soothing his raw nerves and releasing the tension in his mind. When Lance wrapped an arm around Keith he didn’t try to duck away. Instead he leaned into it, nuzzling his nose into Lance’s neck to make him giggle and resting a hand over his navel. Lance’s touch did not burn Keith like other touches did. It made him feel warm and fuzzy, but a good fuzzy, like being wrapped in a blanket.

  
Lance’s fingers could never sit still, they were always moving over Keith’s skin like they just couldn’t get enough. They would trace small circles on his belly or carve their way over his collar bone leaving a gentle hum in their wake. They moved loving over his ribs, rode the hills and valleys of his hips, carressed the curves of his inner thighs. Sometimes they’d find themselves tangled in Keith’s hair, letting the strands card through the spaces between his fingers or gathering it up to clutch and tug gently. Other times they ghosted over his shoulders, following the natural path down to his elbows and wrists.

  
If Lance’s fingers felt good it wasn’t nothing compared to how his lips felt. They were two perfect petals, pink velvet against Keith’s body, and they were always on Keith’s body. He sometimes teased Lance about potentially being a cannibal because usually their kissing turned into Lance just savoring Keith’s upper (and sometimes lower) body. They suckled at sensitive areas, making soft pleasurable noises tumble from Keith’s lips. They mapped out his neck, tenderly shaping out the ridges with his tongue, leaving dark love bites that even Keith’s high collared jacket couldn’t cover.

  
Mostly though, Keith was just glad he wasn’t catholic, because the feeling of Lance against his skin was a heavenly sin, one he’d gladly go to Hell for. Before Keith met Lance, he was terrified of being touched, but now he sought it out. He started wearing less clothes to bed on the off chance that Lance would roll over and cuddle him in his sleep. He would pretend to fall asleep on the couch so Lance would gather him up in arms and peck the top of his head. He actually initiated contact now, reaching out for hand squeezes and cheek pecks and nose boops and just any skin to skin touch because he loved it, he loved Lance.


	2. Pool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really didn't think I'd continue this, but I ended up finding myself drawn to it. This is some fluffy childhood klance. I might end up writing more of their friendship and eventual relationship? Idk though, only if you guys tell me you want it. Enjoy~

Keith sat in a lawn chair with his towel wrapped tightly around himself. He glanced up at the clock and was dismayed to find out he still had 50 more insufferable minutes of this before Shiro would come to pick him up. He wasn’t sure why he had dared to hope that by avoiding looking at the clock it would make time go faster, if anything it seemed to ooze on at even slower rate. He wasn’t sure he could make it another 5 minutes, let alone fifty. His ears already buzzed from loud blasting pop music and the shrieking of young children. If he wasn’t in public he would have been clamping his hands over his ears or hugging himself as tightly as possible, but his mother kept telling him people would look at him odd if he did, so he was avoiding it for now, but if things got really bad he had no hesitations about doing it. Right now though, the best thing he could do was to wrap his towel as tightly around himself as he could and keep his eyes closed to block out the bright sunlight.

Keith wasn’t even sure why he was here. He’d only agreed to come to this because Hunk was one of the few people in his 4th class he could actually stand. Hunk was always sweet and quiet, never blurting out the answer or shrieking across the lunchroom. Though he and Keith didn’t talk much (Or well, Keith didn’t talk much in general), he was probably the closest thing Keith had to a friend this year so when Hunk handed him a yellow envelope explaining excitedly that he was going to throw a end of school year party Keith said he’d be there. It was only after opening the envelope and discovered the type of party Hunk was throwing did he regret his promise. So here he was, sitting in a chair as far away from the center of activity as he could possibly be, watching the dozen or so friends of Hunk romp around in the rectangular pit of what Keith considered to be liquid death.

Pool parties. The ugly love child of the two things Keith loathed the most: pools and parties. He hated both for similar reasons and avoided them at all costs. They were often overcrowded with screaming children who had no regard for personal space. Parties had the added component of loud music and too bright decorations. Pools were confined places of children with water. They splashed and dunked one another at will, not caring who got hurt in the crossfire. Then there was the fact that pool water was contaminated with chlorine and other chemicals at burned at Keith’s nostrils and made his headache. Even sitting at the ledge was enough to make him feel a little light headed. Heck, even as far away as he was now he could still smell it. 

Keith had always been a little more sensitive to the world than others. His perception of the world was on high definition 24/7 and he couldn’t turn it off. In some cases, it was great. Nobody could solve word searches or seek and find puzzles like he could. He was quick to spot minute details and could pick up even the softest whispers. He always knew what was for dinner before he even entered the house and could pick up the exact sound of his mother’s car approaching the road before she was even visible from the window. But while those were kind of cool, and sometimes even useful, his super sensory powers came with a lot of issues. 

Keith always felt like his very being was bubbling beneath his skin, a simmering soul best left untouched. Being touched was like being burned. Being yelled at was like being set in front of a huge amp system and having his worst nightmares blasted through the speakers. Sunlight was always too bright for his eyes. Perfume and air freshener were like noxious gases. His mother couldn’t use scented laundry detergent on his clothes or sheets because it was too strong. Certain fabrics made his skin itch and crawl. Store bought icing was too chemically sweet and anything covered in fake sugar or sour crystals made him gag. He couldn’t stand listening to people who over spat on the letter ‘S’ until it whistled. He couldn’t use regular pencils because the scratching of the graphite drove him up the wall. He had to use a certain brand of mechanical pencil or pen. 

Experiencing one of these scenarios sent prickles of discomfort over his skin making him shudder in unease. It was unpleasant and therefore he avoided it, but it wasn’t unbearable. But once he began to experience multiple senses either altogether or in rapid succession he would begin to enter what he had dubbed ‘sensory state’. He’d shake uncontrollably, as if his body was trying to rid itself of the unwanted sensation. He’d wrap his arms tightly around himself, squeezing in a vain attempt to stay calm. He wouldn’t be able to speak, mind unable to focus on anything but getting out of that situation, but he couldn’t move his feet. He was frozen to the spot, panic welling up in his chest and suffocating him slowly. It was like drowning in icy cold fear. Sometimes instead of freezing up he’d just freak out. He’d rock his body back and forth, letting his limbs slap loosely at his sides. Or else he might slap his hands over his ears repeatedly. He’d buzz his lips or hum loudly. He’d shiver and shake without restraint. 

And for all these reasons Keith hated himself. He hated how he couldn’t be in certain areas or do certain activities. He hated how he had to sit out lest he risk having a panic attack in front of his peers. He was so cut off from the world that he couldn’t name a single person as a real ‘friend’ because talking to people overloaded his senses just as easily. He was always terrified of saying the wrong thing or doing a weird behavior and scaring people off. He hated himself and his stupid hypersensitive body. What he wouldn’t give to be normal. 

Despite this, there were times when he did enjoy his senses, because there were little moments of clarity within the chaos. Times when his senses would align and his body would simply hum. Touching the keys of the electronic keyboard at home. Sucking on the plastic necklace Shiro had given him. Listening to soft rain. Rubbing the edges of his blanket beneath his nails. Pressing his face into his stuffed lion. Mushing playdough between his fingers. Drinking carbonated soda. Trampolines. Watching bonfires. The smooth surface of metal. Kitten fur. The color red. His mind would sigh in relief because finally something made sense, but these moments were rare unless he created them himself. 

But for the most part, he hated himself. 

And he hated this pool party and all it stood for. At least nobody bothered him too much. Usually when kids came over to ask why he wasn’t joining in he just stayed quiet. If you ignored them they usually went away. Sure, it definitely wasn’t helping him make friends, but it was the best way to avoid answering weird questions. Staying silent was the best way to deal with it, or it was until now. 

Keith had been sitting there in his chair, glancing at the clock every now and then and just generally minding his own business. Then, without any warning he heard the spine jolting scrape of a lawn chair being pulled out over patio tile. He winced, glancing over to see the source of the noise. A boy with tan skin and bright blue eyes was dragging a lawn chair over to where Keith was sitting. Keith was pretty sure he knew the kid, but couldn’t remember his name. He was a little tall for his age, and had short, curly brown hair still damp from the pool and had tied his towel around his shoulders like a superhero cape. He wore a necklace with a blue star pendant on the chain. Keith noticed there were faint imprints of bite marks in the center. To get a better look he lifted his head out from his towel cocoon. He felt his own red star pendant against his chest. Where they made of the same material? They appeared to be…

But then Keith noticed the boy’s mouth open, which meant he intended to actually speak to Keith. Immediately Keith retreated back into his towel, looking away from him. If he didn’t pay attention to the boy he would go away eventually. 

“I’m Lance,” The boy said cheerfully. His voice was chipper and singsong, like a bird song. Keith liked birds.

Keith had expected to flinch at the sound of the boy’s voice. Human voices were usually so sharp and icky to his ears. Very few voices, such as his foster brother Shiro’s, were pleasing to his ears. Surprisingly Lance’s voice did not. It was silk in the way that Shiro’s voice was velvet. Still, pleasing voice or not, Keith wanted Lance to go away. 

“It’s getting too loud out there.” Lance continued, apparently not picking up on Keith’s silent pleas to leave. “You have the right idea sitting out you know.”

Praise for self isolation. That was knew.

“I’ve seen you around school, y’know.” Lance said. Keith glanced over briefly. Lance was swinging his legs over the edge of the chair He was sucking on the star pendant now, fidgeting with the beads that hung on the sides. “You usually stay away from the other kids at recess, right? I think I’ve seen you climb trees a few times. How did you get so good at climbing trees? It’s like watching a squirrel or a… a… monkey.”

Practice, Keith wanted to say, but he didn’t. 

“I also see you at Altea,” Lance added. “But you usually work with Mr. Shiro alone most of the time.”

Here Keith perked up at bit. He let his eyes flicker over Lance again and suddenly recognized him. Yes, he’d seen Lance at Altea Behavioral Center (ABC for short) a few times but had never spoken to him. Altea Behavioral Center was a little bit of Heaven and Hell for Keith. It was a center for kids with learning disabilities that worked to help improve their social skills and give them a safe environment to learn. Keith attended sessions there nearly everyday after school, working mostly with his older brother Shiro who was an aide there, and Miss Allura on coping with his sensory issue and his schoolwork.

He liked the different games and activities they did and all the interesting toys they provided him. When Keith was working with the aides he was usually taken to a quiet room that was away from the other children. The room was actually Miss Allura’s office. There was a desk and bookshelf in the corner where she had her actual office, but the rest of it Shiro said he’d helped her decorate it to make it ideal for Keith to work in. The floor was not cold hardwood, but a soft (not fluffy) gray carpet. The floor was kept clear with lots of room for Keith to ‘Starfish’ on. In one area they’d suspended a tent he could crawl into. The shelves housed different learning and sensory aides and the It was one of the few places Keith knew of that he could completely relax in and not have to worry about odd sounds startling or weird scents or textures. 

It might seem odd that a child would get this kind of special treatment, but at Altea the staff went above and beyond to help every kid. They had special rooms dedicated to different needs, and they were more than willing to change up those rooms if it meant helping somebody make progress. Keith loved that about ABC. He wasn’t told to suck it up if he was having a difficult time, but he wasn’t immediately let off the hook either. Instead the staff helped him work through it and though he would rather be able to just stop it altogether, he appreciated that they genuinely wanted him to cope on his own. 

That meant of course that Keith was not exempt from socializing. When it was outdoor time for the other 8-10 year olds Keith was marched right out there with everyone else and expected to make some attempt at a conversation. At first he tried hiding behind Shiro. At home this had been perfectly acceptable behavior. Keith would use Shiro’s large body as cover to defend him against having to speak to strangers, but at Altea it was forbidden. Shiro would nudge him out and point to one of the kids, encouraging Keith to attempt to speak with him. Keith would always give Shiro the stink eye, but then wander off in that direction and do as instructed. Or at least, he’d try to. Sometimes things just didn’t go as planned. 

Now that Keith reflected back to the few interactions he’d had with his other 8-10 year old classmates he recognized Lance as one of them. Lance was that tan skinned kid always trying to swing up to the highest points he could and jump off, claiming he was a superhero. Fortunately he was also a scaredy cat, so he never really jumped off at any dangerous heights. Keith always remembered watching him with an odd fascination, wondering if the kid knew that he could go higher and not get hurt. Probably not, because when Keith showed him that height the kid called him a show off and ran to go play with his other friends.

“You were on the swings.” Keith said softly, still not looking at the boy. The boy had long since stopped talking. They’d been sitting together in silence for a while now. 

“What?” Lance asked in confusion. 

“The swings.” Keith repeated, letting himself glance at Lance again. 

“Which swings?” Lance asked, his head tilting a bit to the left, eyebrows twitching up. 

“The swings.” Keith said again, focusing his gaze down at his hands. 

“The swings…” Lance murmured in thought. “I’ve been on a lot of swings. The school swings? Or a different set?”

“Different set.” Keith nodded. The movement made the towel secured around him shift, falling away from his face.

“The park swings, or a different set?” Lance asked. Usually at this point kids started getting frustrated with Keith not saying out right what he meant, but apparently not Lance.

“Different set.”

“Wait! Do you mean the swings at Altea?”

“The swings at Altea.” Keith confirmed with a nod. 

“Oh yeah!” Lance laughed, and what a sound that was. Soft blue like the ocean and warm like the sun kissed sand. Keith felt himself lean into it. He’d never heard a laugh like that. Most laughs were scratchy and icky. 

“You jumped.” Keith continued hesitantly. “And then I jumped, and you-”

“Called you a show off.” Lance said, his tone becoming apologetic. “Yeah, not my best moment, y’know. But we’re okay now, right? No hard feelings.”

“I know.” Keith said with a nod. “We’re okay.”

“Is it true that Mr. Shiro is your brother?” Lance asked, taking the star pendant he wore into his mouth, sucking softly. “Because I wish Mr. Shiro was my big brother. He’s so cool.”

“Shiro is my big brother.” Keith agreed, searching for words to keep the conversation going. “He’s… cool.”

Keith felt his cheeks grow red as the words left his lips. All he’d done was copy what Lance had said. Allura and Shiro had told him that copying words wasn’t going to get him far in a conversation. What was he thinking?

“Yeah…” Lance nodded, looking out into the water. “I bet he’s a great big brother.”

“He is.” Keith said. He closed his eyes, hoping the words would come easier to him. “He takes me… places. The park. School. The pool, but I don’t like the pool. Loud.”

“It’s too loud?” Lance asked. 

“It’s too loud for me.” Keith clarified. 

“It can be sometimes for me too.” Lance said. “That’s why I came over here. Do you like to swim otherwise though?”

“I love to swim.” Keith nodded eagerly. He liked the way water felt against his skin, forgiving and soothing. He liked how it parted when he ran a hand through it, how it ripped and bubbled against his touch. He liked waters and he guessed therefore he could like pools, just not loud ones with lot’s of people.

“You know,” Lance mused, tapping his fingers against the chair absentmindedly. “I bet if I asked Hunk he’d start a game of something to get people out of the water so you could take some time. Do you want me too?”

Keith paused for a moment and thought about it. He really did like the idea of going swimming, especially in Hunk’s pool with the mosaic tiling and soft lights. 

He nodded. “Okay,”

Lance grinned getting to his feet and chasing after the boy in bright yellow swim trunks. Keith found himself getting up and following him, leaving his towel behind. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I've got to talk about this? Keith's experiences are mostly based off my own. I've got ADHD and while my sensory shit isn't nearly as fucked up as Keith's, I amplified my experiences to create. As far as what he might have I'll leave that up to you. Comment if you liked it or want more, send me anons @ilovechickensofttacos.tumblr.com.  
> -jules


	3. Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy some broganes  
> I wanted to make a long update. efore i go to camp on july 2nd but as I wrote this little snippet came along so nicely i had to post it.  
> my birthday is july 5th btw. I will be back on the seventh with an outline for a good chapter with some plot in it then. if you check tags youll get a hint about it. for now, here is some fluffy keef.  
> happy early fourth of july for my fellow americans!  
> please please please comment! i promise the klance is next on the agenda!

When Keith was almost 5 years old he was adopted by the Shirogane family. There was tall and low voiced Mr. Shirogane, small and kind Mrs. Shirogane, and their shy twelve year old son Takashi. They let him come to them, not reaching out to scoop him up. They let him contentedly sit at their feet and color quietly as they conversed with the social worker. Takashi had joined him, lying on his stomach and watching Keith scribble with color wonder markers over a picture of a smiling turtle.

“Hi,” Takashi said softly after a few minutes of shared silence.

Keith didn’t respond, didn’t even acknowledge the older boy’s presence. He kept swiping the yellow marker over a particular spot on the turtle's shell just to listen to the satisfying sound of marker on paper.

“I’m Takashi,” Takashi continued as if his mother hadn’t introduced them moments before. “A lot of people call me Shiro.”

Keith kept coloring, but the pace of his swiping slowed noticeably. Takashi’s, or rather Shiro’s, voice had caught him off guard. Most of the time people’s voices were like scratchy sandpaper to him. High voices were the worst, so shrill and shrieky. Low voices were just as bad, so rumbling and loud. Shiro however had a nice voice. Keith didn’t mind listening to him speak, in fact, he liked it.

“What’s your name?” Shiro asked.

Keith stopped coloring for a moment, then continued shading before responding. “Keef.”

“Keef?” Shiro repeated Keith’s lisped version of his name. Amusement played into the dark notes of his voice. “Are you sure?”

“Keef.” Keith said, a little more firmly this time to make sure Shiro understood him.

“Keef,” Shiro repeated again, clearly trying not to laugh.

Keith didn't understand what was so funny about purposefully mispronouncing someone's name. He scowled angrily.

“No,” Keith mumbled, shaking his head. “I am Keef. Keef. That is my name!”

He realized now why Shiro was confused, Keith wasn’t saying his name right. So he kept repeating it, sure that he’d get it right eventually. It had worked before.

“Keef,” Keith said again. “Keef. Keef! Keeeeeef. K-keef."

Shiro watched in bewilderment as the toddler slowly became more and more frustrated with himself. Keith kept saying it his name, trying different inflections and mimicking the ways other people had said it, but no matter what he just couldn’t make the ‘th’ sound. Eventually he got so angry he started to cry, whimpering out his name in a high pitched blubbering way until Mrs. Shirogane picked him up, cooing affectionately to him. Too conflicted to fight back he just buried his face into her chest and cried until he felt a hand on his back.

Keith cracked an eye open to look at his adopted brother, then he looked away, sniffling. 

“Were you trying to say Keith?” Shiro asked gently.

Keith only hiccupped in reply.

Shiro understood.

 

**Author's Note:**

> comment if you liked it!! send me short story prompts at ilovechickensofttacos.tumblr.com!!


End file.
